


We Can Do This, Right?

by DeanIsSaved



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Not Slash, Past Child Abuse, Protective Sam, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, Wincest if you squint, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanIsSaved/pseuds/DeanIsSaved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sitting just inside was Deans brown leather jacket, folded up neatly on the table. That was strange. Even stranger was the envelope sitting directly on top of the jacket, the name Sammy scribbled on top. </p><p>PLEASE READ TRIGGER WARNINGS. DO NOT READ IF TRIGGERED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Sam arrived at the red scratched up door it was 1:02 on the morning, but the chances of his brother or father being asleep were slim. Growing up in the Winchester family meant you got less sleep and more research.

Sam had been nervous about this, showing up uninvited to the family he had long since abandoned. But he had to see Dean, left things too messy. He didn’t want Dean to think that he had ever hated him. He just had to get away, to start his own life- Dean had gotten that, right? Either way, he was waiting on the doorstep of a random motel, giving up his spring break to see them. They had to be appreciative. 

Sam knocked on the door and held his breath. Prepared his apologetic yet adorable smile- but nobody answered the door. Sam shifted, puzzled. Knocked again. Still nothing. Now fretting, Sam looked around, checked the number on the motel door. He had pinpointed the location exactly; his hunter training had come in handy after all. Just a cell phone number and he was able to track Dean to this room. Room number 161, Red Mander Motel, to be exact. Sam did his research right. Had they gone out? Were they somewhere in the moonlit night burning a corpse? 

Sam prepared to leave, checking around one more time, he peeked in the window. Something sitting right inside the glass on a simple wooden table caught his eye.

Awkwardly positioned over a decorative shrub, Sam peered inside the suite. Sitting just inside was Deans brown leather jacket, folded up neatly on the table. That was strange. Even stranger was the envelope sitting directly on top of the jacket, the name _Sammy_ scribbled on top. A letter… for him? And why was Deans favorite jacke… _fuck_. _Oh no. Oh no no no._

Sam nearly tripped over the little bush as he went back into the door, slamming his fists in abandon on the splintery wood. “Dean! Hey, you there! DEAN! _OPEN THE DOOR!”_ Sam must’ve looked crazy, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Sam stopped for a second, wondering if maybe he had misinterpreted this, was overreacting- and then proceeded to kick open the door.          

Inside, there was only one bed, messy from use. An empty kitchen, one single duffel bag near the tiny box television. Surveying the empty room, Sam made his way to the bathroom with his heart pounding.           

When he stepped inside, he hoped, for the first time in his life, to be wrong. Wanted to see Dean brushing his teeth at the sink, wanted him to turn around and crack Sam that award-winning smile with a mouth full of toothpaste suds. He would’ve taken a bathroom full of steam and the terrible sound of his brother singing ACDC with all his heart.           

But Sam was right. The first thing he saw as he stepped inside was the shocking presence of bright red. But it wasn’t gruesome- at least not to a third party- as the red wasn’t splattered across the bathroom in a dramatic manner. Dean, along with half of his blood, was neatly tucked into the tub. Dean himself was laying serenely still. Two long open cuts ran up the length of each forearm.  The pristine white bathroom with the tub of red and the perfect, pale face of his brother centered in it could have been a tragic work of art.           

Sam stumbled, feeling dizzy. _That was his brother. His Dean._ Hot tears slipped down his face as Sam knelt next to the tub- grasping at his brother. He felt an overwhelming need to get him out of the tub right now. He dragged Dean over the side, yelling with anguish and tears. Dean collapsed on top of Sam, clearly unconscious, - _or dead_ \- no. Unconscious. Sam shifted Dean’s body so he was pressed up against Sam’s chest and between his legs. His hands grabbed at the cuts, trying to keep the blood in.           

It was a mad scramble as Sam tried to cover Dean’s arms while also getting his phone out of his back pocket. It kept slipping through his fingers though, because of all the blood – _Oh god, Dean’s blood_ – and Sam renewed his efforts. Red was soaking through his t-shirt, staining all his clothing, but Sam only clung tighter to his limp brother.           

 _911, What’s your emergency?_

“My-m-my-“ _God Sam, get to together._ “My brother is bleeding out- Red Mander Motel in Carson City. Room-room- uh- 161. Hurry please hurry please please-”           

 _The paramedics are on their way._  

Sam dropped the phone, scrambling uselessly at some no-longer-white towels he pressed against Dean’s arm. A strangled yell tore itself from Sam’s throat. His big brother was in his arms, slipping away, and there wasn’t a single damn thing he could do about it. He sat there, body wrapped around the lifeless form of his elder brother, and wait for an ambulance to arrive.           

“D-Dean, p-please, I need you, Dean, don’t leave me-“ and that was all Sam could manage before his voice broke off and he sobbed into the short brown hair.           

Vaguely Sam heard the sound of wailing sirens approaching him, and the mutters of concerned guests emerging from their rooms. Then soft hands were at Sam’s shoulders, prying him away from his brother- _away from his Dean_ \- and Sam became frantic. He shouted no, no stop, clutching at his brother tightly, because if he lost Dean he lost everything. He would be nothing.           

“Sir, sir please, let go, we’re trying to help-”          

And it struck him. Oh. _Oh._ “Yes-yes, go, go!” Sam brushed his hand along his face in an attempt to get the gross snot and tears off his face, but he noticed in the mirror it had only streaked red across his face. And Sam also noticed, in the haze of things, that the mirror was broken. Shards of glass filled the sink, one large blood tipped piece lying near the tub. Sam felt like he was going to be sick. He swallowed back, refusing to leave his brother behind. Not again. 

Sam padded along like a helpless puppy as the paramedics carried Dean into the back of the ambulance. He stepped in along side the busy people, not needing and invitation. He was almost aware of salty tears drying on his skin and the blood-soaked clothes, but too many things were running through his mind to care. Where was John?  There was only one bed, Dean had been all alone. And _why._ Why would he do this? The question he dared not think about. Sam considered maybe something not natural- a djinn or spirit or something, but Sam knew in his gut that it wasn’t. This had been Dean. Sam could’ve punched something. This was his fault. Growing up, Sam had noticed the way Dean looked into mirrors with disgust, avoided them as if they were cursed objects. Once or twice he had noticed scars- not the usual ones from hunts- but neat, straight lines on his bicep or forearm. Of course John hadn’t noticed, obsessed with the demon business. 

Sam felt more tears bubbling up. Did Dean really hate himself that much? Did he feel so hopeless that he needed to take his own life? He tried to stop the wetness, but unfortunately his eyes landed back on Dean and he couldn’t keep the tears back anymore. Surrounded by buzzing people sticking things in him and on him, Dean looked almost beautiful. Pale as a sheet of paper, pink lips parted slightly to make way for the tube being shoved down his throat. For the rest of the ride Sam focused on trying to get his hands to stay still.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean woke up, something he was painfully aware of. Groggy and tired, as if a 50 pound weight were on top of him, but awake. He took in his senses slowly. A slight, slow beeping off to his right, something itching at his left ring finger. Everything smelt clean, and a bright light dared to creep past his eyelids. A hospital. _Damn._ Dean hated hospitals. _If you have needles and a bottle of jack, you don’t need a hospital_. Dean used to tell Sam. But more than that, Dean had failed. He had meant to die. He had wholeheartedly tried his best to die. And he failed. Just like he failed at everything. What kind of person couldn’t properly commit suicide?           

When Dean heard a heavy sigh and felt a shift in something that felt vaguely Sam-sized, Dean almost felt happy again, that Sam had returned. But then he remembered that Sam was supposed to be off having the time of his life at college, and he had only come all this way because the hospital had no one else to call. John sure as hell wouldn’t come, so Sam had dragged himself out here to account for his worthless suicidal mess of a brother.

Dean flicked his eyes opened, and quickly learned he was right about the hospital suspicion due to the bright ceiling light assaulting his eyes. He slowly tried to stretch his muscles- he ached all over- and cursed himself again for not getting the job done.         

Apparently Sam had noticed, as his head snapped up from its place in his arms. “Dean?” Sam’s hair was ruffled and sticking up on the back of his head.         

“Heya, Sammy.” Dean tried to say, but his voice was so gravelly and unused that it sent him into a coughing fit. He lurched forward, causing his muscles to ache more. Damnit.

Sam was up in an instant, rubbing circles soothingly into Dean’s back. “Breathe Dean. It’s okay. Just breathe.” When he had settled down, Sam scooched his plastic chair as close to Dean’s bed as he could manage and settled in, looking expectantly at him.          

A careful silence stood between them, neither even dared to breathe. Dean looked away, couldn’t take the guilt he felt. He was such a burden to Sam.         

“So,” Sam spoke unexpectedly. “Where’s dad?”          

Dean could’ve laughed. “Dad lasted about two days after you left. Threw some things around, broke a chair or two. Packed up, said he was off to a hunt, told me he’d check in, and I haven’t heard from him since.” Sam looked genuinely surprised, the poor kid. Probably thought he and dad had patched things up and were a hunting dynamic duo. How sweet. Dean couldn't help but bad for letting his little brother down.         

“Dean-” Sam started, and Dean knew exactly where that tone of voice was headed.      

“No, Sam, not yet. I don’t want to.” And to Deans, surprise, Sam swallowed his words. He must’ve agreed that it was a little too soon to start berating him. Speaking of,

“How long was I out?”          

Sam contemplated for a moment, “Three days, I think. It was a little shaky in the beginning, you lost a lot of blood-“ and he decided that his voice could no longer be trusted. Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We have to figure out where you’re gonna go. The hospital says you have to stay here, unless you can find a family member or friend to stay with.” Sam pursed his lips, obviously waiting for a reply from Dean. When he got none, he went on, “So, I was thinking you could come to Stanford-”           

“No. No Sam. Absolutely not.” Dean protested.           

“Dean, at least consider it-” 

“I’m not gonna do that to you, Sam! You were doing so good, You had everything set for you- you don’t need this. I’ll just be a burden, Sammy!” Dean was on the edge of panicking now; sitting up with his breathes coming faster.           

Sam grabbed his brothers hands, stared straight into the deep green of his eyes. “Listen to me, Dean. You are not a burden. I could never ever think of you like that.” A pause, “And Dean, if you don’t come with me, you have to live here in the hospital for awhile, and I know that’s not exactly on your bucket list.”         

Dean sighed, realizing that he might need to accept this. “But how would that work?”           

“Well, you would stay at my place. I have a little apartment close to school. I’m sure my roommate Jess wouldn’t mind. You’d probably have to get a job. It’d be fine, Dean. We could do it.”

            

Three more days and what Dean thought was enough medication to fill a swimming pool, Sam and Dean were on the road to Stanford. They had swung by the motel room, Dean pointedly looking away, to pick up the rusted but working blue pickup truck Dean had stolen for lack of the Impala. Sam was in the driver’s seat, something that seemed to disgruntle an already disgruntled Dean. 

While they were travelling on a long stretch of lone road, the sun setting in glorious stripes of reds and purples, Sam looked over and decided Dean was much nicer to look at. 

When Sam blasted some good old-fashioned Kansas and Dean turned down the volume, the reality of the situation struck Sam. He had come so close to losing his only family left, besides John who was God knows where. No, Dean was more than family. Family fought and left you, but Dean had always supported Sam through thick and thin, loved him more unconditionally than Sam had ever seen someone love another. And to think that Dean doubted his self-worth- Sam wouldn’t allow that. He would show Dean how much he meant.

A few hours later, Dean stepped past the threshold to Sam and Jess’ apartment. The walls were painted a gentle shade of blue-grey.  It was cluttered, but in the way that was just right. The small living area had a futon and a coffee table covered in various fat books, a mix of medical and law. In short, it was the perfect college place and Dean felt he was intruding. Like he didn’t belong here. 

As Sam closed the door behind them an attractive blonde girl in a Smurfs t-shirt emerged from a bedroom, smiling like she expected them. She introduced herself as Jessica Moore and kept giving Sam these understanding glances. He must have informed Jess on the situation, but Dean pretended he didn’t notice. 

When Jess bid them goodbye and left to spend the night with her girlfriends, Sam and Dean shifted around uncomfortably in the silence. “So,” Sam started, “That’s my room.” He gestured to a neat little bedroom with a queen-sized bed in the middle. “You, uh, can sleep in there, or, on the couch, or wherever.” Dean dropped his bag at the end of the couch. It suddenly occurred to him that that was all he had. A duffel with some clothes, a pack full of anti-depressants, and white bandages on both arms. 

“Thanks,” He forced out. It was getting late; they had arrived close to midnight.

“Goodnight, Dean. Holler if you need anything, I mean it. And don’t forget to take your, um, medicine,”

“Yeah, Sam. Night.” Sam looked at Dean a moment, then turned and shuffled off to his room. Dean noticed that he left his door wide open.

Dean quickly changed into a pair of sweatpants and a faded band tee. Sitting on the edge of the futon, Dean considered the pills in the obnoxious orange container. Shook them once, then chucked them back into the pack.  He didn’t need any freakin pills. He wasn’t depressed or insane. He was realistic. So Dean grabbed a thin blanket and tried to fall asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

It had taken Sam a long time to find this uneasy sleep, which is why he was not happy about being pulled from it. But then he realized the source of the noise must be Dean, unless Jess got home early from wherever she was. He hadn’t really noticed.             

Sam shot up in bed and the first thing he saw was a lost looking Dean standing outside the doorway to Sam’s bedroom. Illuminated only by the strangely bright rays of the moon, he looked like a scared kitten, wide watery eyes. His right hand clutched the inside of his left elbow and he looked like more than anything he wanted to evaporate.  “Dean? You okay?” Sam said, voice full on concern. He froze, waited, not daring to say anything more. 

“…No.” And a tear slipped from his eye. Sam was up in an instant, guiding his big brother to his unkempt bed.

“Talk to me. I’m here for you, Dean.” Sam could practically hear the cheesiness in his own cliché words, but Dean melted into Sam’s shoulder anyway. Sam felt hot tears on through his tee and pulled Dean closer. Sam rocked Dean back and forth, murmuring incoherent reassurances into his ear. “We’re gonna have to talk about this sooner or later. Now seems like a good time.” 

Dean withdrew so he could face Sam in the eye, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand. Situating himself to be crisscross applesauce, Dean recomposed himself and look his little brother in the eye. “Alright. I’m an adult. I can do this.” Sam smiled reassuringly at him and gripped Dean’s shaking hands.           

With an unsteady voice, Dean began, “So, the big question: why did I do it. Been askin myself the same thing, to be honest.” Dean gave a humorless chuckle. “Well, uhm, I guess I just felt, I dunno, worthless. Mom left and then you left and then dad left; I felt so alone Sammy.” And Dean seemed to grow angry with himself, tensing up in Sam’s grip. “But this isn’t your fault! None of this is anybody’s fault! I’m just so fucked up- Fuck _Fuck_ I’m so sorry Sam I shouldn’t have come here-“ 

“Dean! Dean, listen to me. You’re allowed to have feelings! I know dad must’ve been harder on you growing up-“ And Sam was cut off by the look of pure fear Dean was sporting, one with lips slightly parted and wide eyes that made him look like a deep dark secret had just been revealed. He involuntarily shrunk back and his hands jerked in Sam’s grip in an attempt to cover his face- and Sam realized. “Oh. _Oh._ Oh my god. Dean, dad didn’t- he never-did he?” And the shameful expression on his big brother told him everything he needed to know. Bile rose up yet again, burning the back of Sam’s throat. He couldn’t believe, Deans idol, the man Sam had thrown a tantrum about for not letting him go to a high school football game, had, had _abused_ Dean… Sam wanted to punch a wall, or better yet punch John Winchester square in the jaw. Instead he blinked back the wetness in his eyes. His brother needed him right now, and Sam would be damned if he wasn’t there. 

“That’s not why though, Sammy. Not because I was alone, or what dad did to me.” Sam winced at the word dad. John wasn’t a father to Dean Winchester. He deserved so much better. “Well, i-it’s because, I hate myself. Plain and simple.” He mumbled, looking down as if he had something to be ashamed of. 

“Dean-what?”

He sighed, and then continued, “ I look in the mirror, and I hate what I see. I’m so fucking worthless. Nothing I do matters. I just end up hurting someone. I can’t bear to live with myself anymore, Sammy. I can’t do it.” Faster breaths. A wild look in the bright green eyes. “I fuck up everything. I’m messed up. I can’t be saved.” And Dean was shaking so hard, biting on his lip in an attempt to keep his composure. “I want to die. _I want to die.”_  

And they both broke. Dean couldn’t keep the sobs back; they tore through his chest and wracked his body as he collapsed into his tall, gangly brother. The overwhelming sensation of heaviness in his chest became too much. 

Sam more than accepted Dean into his embrace. He clutched him into his body, legs and arms and neck wrapped around Dean in a grip nobody would dare to break. Without either of them noticing, they lay down, still clutched in the others embrace. Tears freely flowed from Sam’s eyes It hurt to see Dean this way. Dean was his idol, his mentor his guide his friend his everything. Sam felt if he let Dean go, he would slip through his fingertips, dissolve in the breeze, leave Sam by himself. Chin resting over Dean’s shoulder, Sam breathed in the scent of his brother- his _home_ \- and decided nothing could replace that. It was gunpowder and car grease and the burning of firecrackers on the fourth of July and just uniquely Dean. 

“I wont let you, Dean. I wont let you. I need you. Don’t leave me.” Sam almost begged, words caught in the fabric of Dean’s nightshirt.

“No you don’t. You don’t need me. I’m useless.” They were almost whispering. Though they were alone, their words seemed sacred, something only they could share. Secrets exchanged in the middle of the night.

“Dean fucking Winchester, you listen to me. _You are not useless_. You are bright, and strong, and brave, and I need you to see that. I need you to see yourself like I do. I’ve been looking up to you since I was four. Following you, trying to be just like you. Because you’re perfect, Dean. M’ not just saying that. I love you. Every bit of you.”

They were quiet for a long time, words hanging heavy in the air. Sam couldn’t see Deans face.  But he hoped he had paid attention, because he meant every word of it. “I love you too, Sammy.” 

They stayed that way for the rest of the night, tangled in each other. Sam rhythmically played with Dean’s spiky hair, murmuring comforting nothings into the pale darkness. Strings of “I love you, ” and “I’m here, Dean. I’m here.”


	4. Chapter 4

Come morning found the boys pressed up against each other, Deans back warm in Sam’s long arms. They were wrapped around Dean’s waist, something Dean would totally have put a stop to, had he chosen to be awake. But he wasn’t. He was, however, content to stay snuggled up like this all day, lazy sun filtering in through the large window.

It was a few days before Sam decided that they actually had to go out, get Dean acquainted with the town. He had been wandering and moping about the apartment, Jess conveniently stationed there when Sam had classes. Sam had been sitting on the couch, laptop in his hand and feet propped up on the table. Tired of studying, he called out, “Hey Dean? Wanna go to Jim’s?” 

“What’s Jim’s?” Dean called back from Sam’s bedroom. 

“A little coffee shop on this street. It ‘s nothing fancy. A lot of students hang out there.” 

A pause. “Yeah, sure.”

 

Dean frowned in the mirror. His only long sleeve shirt didn’t cover the very noticeable white of the bandages beneath them. He kept tugging, cursing himself for not picking a simpler way to kill himself. A bullet or some sleeping pills would’ve done the job, but he just had to cut one last time, didn’t he. At least he had kept it in the bathtub. An easy cleanup. 

Sam passed by, paused at Dean fiddling with his sleeves in the mirror. “You… wanna wear one of my shirts? The sleeves are a little bit longer.” Dean accepted with a sigh of relief, grateful for his little brother’s usually inconvenient size. 

Dean considered how strange he must look, wearing long sleeves on such a warm, sunny day, but dismissed the thought when he considered the weirder looks he would have gotten had he not worn them. 

Jim’s Coffee House was bright, full of young people chatting over coffee. The place was modern yet almost familiar, cheery yellow walls and chalkboards reading out their featured teas. The front wall where the door was entirely made of glass, letting the strong sun of the morning light the room. Dean smiled at how perfectly Sam fit in here.  He felt awkward though, extremely conscious of the uncomfortable chaffing of the bandage on the fabric. He hoped it didn’t show.

 

Sam watched his brother shift awkwardly, self-conscious of being in public. This was the best place he could have taken him, though. The shop was full of friendly faces and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. But Dean still subconsciously swayed towards Sam, shifting closer when someone passed. 

When Sam’s friend, Trevor, approached them, Dean turned white as a sheet. He kept a surprising pleasant manner, however. “Dean, Trevor. Trevor, this is my brother Dean.”

They shook hands. “Hey. Beautiful day, isn’t it? You must be hot in that,” Trevor gestured to Dean’s unconventional clothing choice. 

“I’m fine. Sure is nice out, though.”

In an attempt to save his obviously uncomfortable brother, Sam launched into a tirade. “How about Sandoval’s paper? If he thought I was finishing that in a week, he’s on drugs.” Sam and Trevor ranted about their teachers for a while, Dean occasionally offering a friendly grin and a word of agreement.           

Sam and Dean settled down at a tiny table perfectly positioned in the sunlight, and Dean took advantage by facing it and basking in the warmth. Sam watched, savoring the moment. Dean seemed carefree. Even if just for a fleeting moment, everything seemed okay. Sam wished he had a camera. To capture this; the way his brother seemed to absorb the light right from the sun. Sam vaguely wondered if Dean stayed there forever if the sun would evaporate, if the world would even need it anymore.

 

One week later found Dean with a job. A garage two streets down accepted him gladly. When the boss, Charlie, saw the magic Dean worked with a wrench, he was hired instantly. Everyday Dean would come to the small apartment smeared in car grease and smelling like gasoline, usually whistling to the tune of that day’s favorite Metallica song. Even best was when Dean would take a shower, because Sam might even get to hear a few bars of Hey Jude. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Dean had quite a beautiful voice. Familiar with the loud belting Dean usually practiced while driving, the sound of the Beatles with the gentle patter of falling water was euphoric. His voice sounded like a dream, and sometimes Sam would lean against the door and silently listen to perfect notes drifting from the steam filled bathroom.           

But some days there would be no singing, or whistling. Some days Dean passed through the short sleeved shirts he had slowly been coming accustomed to and wore exclusively long shirts. On those days, Sam wouldn’t say a word about it. Instead he would make a big pancake breakfast for them. He would make sure Dean knew how worthwhile he was. He would press a little closer to Dean on the couch. It was careful work, but Sam didn’t mind a bit. Actually, he coveted the chance to be the one to take care of the other. Dean had taken care of him his whole life. Made sure he had food and clothes and a friend to talk to. He had given Sam everything he had, poured his heart and soul into his love for Sam. And now Sam finally got the chance to help Dean, make sure that he knew he was loved and important like Dean had done for all of those years.           

They had started sleeping in the same bed. It seemed right, at the day’s end, to just breathe and be with each other. The tension of each day would float away, heavy thoughts no longer a burden for either brother. They would awaken entangled in each other and carry on their day like it was something normal brothers would do. And damnit, Sam thought they deserved this. They deserved each other.

 

Dean had been having a wonderful day. Lovely, even. He never tired of work, if he could even call it that. Today they had gotten a beat up old Impala, of all things. Dean knew the works, had fixed the motor in not time, earning him praise and some extra money to put towards Sam’s birthday present.

It was another sunny day, enough so that Dean was wearing jeans and black tee. Today’s song was House of the Rising Sun. And Dean felt like they could do it. He and Sam. They could live like this. If Sam wasn’t going places, big places, Dean would be perfectly content to live with him forever, as lame as that sounds. It was them against the world. Everything was perfect.

All of a sudden, Dean was being pushed, and _hard._ He stumbled back into the alleyway, just catching himself before he could hit the pavement. Whirling around to find the source, two rather large men were pushing him back further into the corner. “-What?” was all Dean said before he recognized the sneering face before him.

A mop of curly brown hair with a pointed nose- that was… Kyle? K…k or c something. Dean didn’t recognize the second face, dark and void of facial expression.           

“Remember me, Dean? Connor? Did you even bother to remember my name?” Right! Connor. Connor hung around Jim’s, a crazed, brooding expression that Dean assumed was just his face always directed towards Dean as he sat with Sam.  “I bet you didn’t. You don’t care about Sam’s life. You don’t even know what you’ve done.” Dean almost commented on how wrong he was, but he was too busy thinking that Connor had probably been practicing this monologue in the mirror for a while.           

“Listen, Connor, bud, I don’t know what you think-“         

“Shut up, Dean! Shut up!” And Dean did, not out of fear, but because this looked just like the kind of crazy kid to shoot up a school. “Good. Now, I need you to turn around and get the hell out of this town.” Dean was pretty sure that Connor here had gotten this speech straight from a Disney channel show. “You’re distracting Sam. Sam doesn’t need you. As a good citizen, I’m going to have to intervene.”           

And everything was shattered.          

Connor and his sidekick circled around Dean, like a shark around prey. “Sam is bright. He’s talented. You’re a burden on him. And you’re _always_ on him, Deano. Like a leech. He can do so much better,” And Dean wondered; did Connor here have a little crush on Sammy? Was this- was this jealousy?          

Part of him tried to use that as an excuse for this kids words, but he was fighting a losing battle. Dean agreed with every word coming out of his mouth. He had thought them, a million times before. Two can’t be wrong. Dean wanted nothing more than to land a punch on the kids acne covered face- but if he did Connor would make Sam’s life a living hell. They went to school together, and he had unlimited access to him in class. Not to mention, Sam could get in a load of trouble if his unstable older brother beat up a star student. So he took it, for Sam. Always for Sammy.           

Proud of his good decision making, Dean tried to push through the wall of college kids and leave. But as he’s trying to get out, silent statue grabs his wrist in the air. And Connor gazes on the exposed arm, long white scars probably visible from space. And the kid laughs.           

He laughs like it’s the funniest goddamn thing in the world. He screeches at the sky, a cruel grin on his lips. After a good two minutes spent with the kid doubled over and dramatically wheezing. “You’re _kidding._ This has got to be a joke.” And he claps at no one in particular. “This is gold. Here I am, spending my valuable time trying to educate you on how worthless you are, and you already know! Did you actually try to _kill_ _yourself_?”           

Dean stumbled back again, suddenly feeling dizzy. This couldn’t be happening. It was all going so well. And now- he should’ve known. He couldn’t live in this dream forever. Sam didn’t want him here, who was he kidding? He never even had a choice. Had taken in his mess of a brother because he had to. Everyone else had already given up on him.           

“What went wrong, Dean? How could you possibly fuck that up? Oh man, you fail at everything. Literally everything. You’re worthless. He doesn’t need you. Nobody does. Try again, _bud,_ maybe it’ll work this time. You’re a fuckup. Unsalvageable. What a fucking mess.”           

And the words hurt. They cut like the razors Dean used to keep in his duffel. They stung like the slaps John had struck him with. They confirmed his worst fears. He had been right, about one thing. He was too broken to piece back together again.           

That’s why is barely registers when Connor delivers a powerful punch to Deans left cheek. Dean has to give him credit, for someone who looked like he spent all of his time indoors, Connor packs a good punch. Another one, and he hit the pavement. He could take this guy and his crony down in a single blow, but he keeps thinking about Sammy. Doesn’t want to fuck up his life even further.           

The men keep him down, kicking him in his ribs, back, stomach. Dean almost wants to fight back, but mostly he just feels wasted. He acknowledges that he’s given up. How much lower can he get from here? So he takes it, beaten down and hit and kicked. And when they leave, yelling something back at Dean that he’s too tired to register, he doesn’t chase after them. He waits. Waits for death, waits for someone to scoop him up with the rest of the garbage. But nothing comes.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam had been waiting for four hours now. Four long, stress filled hours. Dean was supposed to be back.           

He was perched on the edge of the couch, waiting just as silently as the rest of the empty, dark apartment. His nails were bitten and marred. With every passing minute, Sam’s anxiety grew and grew and furthered the weight that rested in his chest, a hollow black hole.           

Sam nearly fell over when the door opened, evening light spilling out into the room.  For a moment, Sam felt relief, Dean was _home_ , but the weight was dropped right back into Sam as he gathered himself and saw the blonde head of Jess. “Sam? What’s up? Where’s Dean?” Jess asked, jacket in her hand.           

He swallowed hard. “I don’t know.” And Jess’s face showed that she understood.          

“I’m sure that he stayed overtime, or something. Maybe he made a new friend-“           

And the door opened once more, and Dean stumbled into the room. “Dean- Dean!” and he collapsed right into Sam’s arms, and Sam struggled to hold up his brother. Jess flicked on the light.           

Dean’s face was illuminated, lighting up a heavily bruised face. The left side of his face was composed of deep purple and red, blood swelling just under the skin. A split lip, trickles of blood splattering the pale skin.  As Sam adjusted Dean, he noticed a gash on his hairline, as if it had been smashed in to something- hard. “Dean.” Sam gritted out, rage and sorrow fighting for dominance under Sam’s failing composure. “What happened-“           

Dean, apparently, suddenly became aware of his vulnerable state, and straightened himself up, backing away from Sam. As he moved, his shirt rode up a little, shocking Sam with the pretense of more red where there should have been smooth, tan, skin. “Hey, stop, stop. Let me look.” And Dean stopped struggling, gave up. Sam gently moved towards him, pulling up the black tee- and Sam wanted to be sick.           

Rather than the toned, even skin Sam had always known, a pattern of harsh bruises decorated Dean’s body. There was hardly an area that remained untouched. At some points, the skin had even broken, dark red blood staining the surrounding skin. “Dean. Who did this to you.” Sam gritted out. He was seeing red.           

“Doesn’t matter, S’mmy.” Dean slurred out. He weakly pushed back Sam, making his way towards the bathroom.           

“Yes it does Dean. It matters to me. Just tell me _who_ -?”           

“It doesn’t matter! Just someone who was right.”           

“Dean!”           

“Just drop it, Sam! It’ll only get you into trouble. It’s not worth it. It was just a good guy doing what he thought was right- I don’t really care. I deserved it. And if this Connor kid thinks- _wait- shit-_ “ but Sam was already out the door. He was gonna rip his fucking lungs out.

  

Sam found the door to Connors apartment unlocked. He almost wished it was locked, so he would have a chance to kick down the front door and scare the hell out of the fucker. Sure, he was a lean guy, basketball star in high school, but he no one wouldn’t be scared in front of an angry Winchester. 

Said former basketball star was hunched over the fridge, searching for something in the pale light. Sam cleared his throat, and the curly brown head popped up. “Sam? Hey- what are you doing here? Not that you’re unwelcome- always nice to see you. What can I do you for?” He gave Sam a cheesy grin, which Sam had once almost been fond of, but right now he wanted to smash it against the refrigerator door. 

“I think you’ve done enough.” Sam snarled. 

“Oh. Yes. Your brother.” Connor said, kicking the fridge closed, a beer in hand. “So sorry to have such a disappointment in the family. Don’t worry, I don’t think any less of you.” Connor said with a wink, taking a sip from his can. That was when Sam kneed him in the stomach, hard. Stumbling back, Connor fell against the wall, which Sam promptly smashed his head into. The beer tumbled to the carpet, staining it dark.

“Don’t you _ever_ touch Dean again.” Sam gritted out as he delivered a punch to his ribcage. Connor let out a little yelp, and then collapsed onto the ground next to his beer. 

“Hey! I was doing you- a favor!” trying to catch his breath. “Dean’s an idiot. He’ll only drag you down. He’s worthless. You could do so much, Sam- _be_ so much, if you just kicked your mess of a brother aside. He’s not like us!” 

Sam started again and Connor pathetically put his arms up in an attempt to protect himself. “Don’t you EVER compare yourself to Dean. He’s a goddamn genius. He’s worth ten of you. You make me fucking sick.” Sam turned to leave, and shouted back, “If you ever go near him again, I will hunt you down. And I will end you.” And with that, Sam slammed the door and headed home.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam knew something was wrong the moment he got back to the apartment. Jess was slamming her fists against the bathroom door, “Dean, _please_ just let me in-“ 

“Jess! What’s wrong?” 

“He locked himself in there after you left, I haven’t heard a noise for almost ten minutes-“ Sam didn’t even have to break down this door, the lock was flimsy, a good hard push and it was open. Sam was terrified to find a scene like he had when Dean had tried to kill himself, but he forged ahead anyways.

Sam almost cried with relief when he saw his brother standing upright and still very much alive. He was hunched over the sink, hands grasping the edges tightly, short breathes coming out. Sam noticed a razorblade next to Dean’s right hand, but thankfully there was no red in sight. “Dean- hey- talk to me.” 

A moment passed. “Did you… go to Connor’s place?” Sam didn’t reply. “Damnit, Sam, you shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have done that. You’ll get in trouble-“ 

“No I won’t. Even if I did, I wouldn’t care. You _are_ worth it. Always. You didn’t… hurt yourself?”

Dean wrenched his hands away from the counter, slowly backing up. “I… no. I didn’t,” He even sounded surprised at himself. 

Sam reached forward and grabbed his brother’s wrists. “I am so proud of you, Dean. See? You can do this. We can do this.” He smiled reassuringly at his big brother. Dean shakily returned it. 

Then Dean noticed the frazzled blonde roommate standing just outside the bathroom door. “Uh, sorry to scare you, Jess. Didn’t mean to.” He sheepishly apologized, scratching his head. 

“That’s alright. Glad to see you two are okay. Now if you don’t mind me, I’m gonna head out. Try not to burn the place down.” 

Sam thought he oughta buy Jess a damn good birthday present, how helpful and supportive she always was.

And the two Winchesters headed back to their bed, exhausted, but both knowing it was worth every moment.


	7. Chapter 7

“ _WARDEN THREW A PARTY IN THE COUNTY JAIL-”_ Sam quite literally toppled out of bed, one foot trying to catch him on his way down but meeting the bed sheet instead of the wood flooring, and he landed on his back, very tangled in the sheets.

“ _PRISON BAND WAS THERE AND THEY BEGAN TO WAIL-” Sam_ gathered himself with dignity, thank you very much, and headed towards the aromatic kitchen that Elvis was pouring out of. 

“- _SHOULDA HEARD THOSE KNOCKED OUT JAIL-BIRDS SING-“_  The sight that greeted Sam brought a smile to his lips. The one and only Dean Winchester was wearing nothing but boxers and a plain white t-shirt, using a spatula in place of a microphone, and very much swaying his hips like an Elvis impersonator. Bacon sizzled on a pan in front of Dean, and enough waffles to feed America were stacked on the counter. 

Sam watched for a moment, savoring what was going to be an embarrassing moment that he could hold above his brother’s head for years. 

Years. Years was a nice thought. He could stay like this, just like this forever.

“ _EVERYBODY IN THE WHOLE CELL-“_

“Hey Dean.”

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST”


End file.
